The Muse's Undoing

“More of what?”

“Everything,” I breathe, reaching to grab the back of his neck and using it as leverage to pull myself up. I kiss him hard, and his hand abandons my cock to grab both sides of my head and kiss me back.

39

FISCHER

Role playing “big brother” probably isn’t the healthiest way of managing my near frantic anxiety about all the impossible questions Matthew asked me today, but I wanted to give him something he couldn’t have with anyone else, and pray to God it’s something he wants to hang onto, not walk away from like he has with all his other lovers.

So, as much as I hate the fact that we were raised by one family in one home, and that he’s legally my brother, it’s one thing I have that no one else in the world does. And he isn’t subtle how much my acknowledgment of that turns him on. But I have no regrets about keeping my distance when the twins were kids. Especially now.

I don’t like that I might have hurt him with my absence, though. Knowing what I know about him now, which is starting to seem like less and less by the hour, I’d saw off my good leg to keep from hurting him again. The contradictions of him have me totally enraptured. His dominance contrasting so vividly with how innocent and fragile he is—like he’s made of glass and bronze wire, too. Sharp and vivid. Hard, and breakable.

No one does to me what he can do. No one else has ever made me feel like my breath depends on his breath, like my fate is entangled in his. Like I am hopelessly lost within another person I have no control of. Walking into a war zone is less of a risk than lying down in my brother’s bed. The idea of ultimately not being able to give him what he wants is fucking devastating.

What the fuck makes me think I’m so special to him?

Because I do.

I crash hard that night in my apartment, only to be rudely awakened by pounding on my door.

I check the clock. It’s after midnight, but nowhere close to dawn. Which can only mean one thing.

It’s probably better this way. Earlier, I considered going down and having the “this isn’t happening” talk face-to-face, but the last time I attempted that, I wound up having sex with her. Not that I’m afraid of that happening again, but I want to avoid any mixed signals.

I pull on a pair of pants, grab my cane, and walk down the long hallway to answer the door for a barely dressed Ravenna.

I rub my face and yawn. “Raven, you can’t just show up here in the middle of the night.”

She drinks me in with her gaze. “But I’m in the mood for a night cap.” She puts her hands on me, backing me up, and going after my neck.

I plant my hands on her shoulders and hold her off. “We need to talk.”

“Ugh. Why? I’m soooo wet, Fischer.” She tries to take one of my hands and prove this, but I yank it back.

“Stop it. Please. I’m seeing someone else,” I blurt before she manages to overwhelm me.

It works. She freezes and takes a step away. “Who?”

“It’s not important. But it wouldn’t be fair to you or them to—you know—this.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” she says, giving me bedroom eyes again.

“It’s someone from my past,” I tell her. “It’s serious.”

“Oh. Is it Nicole?”

“No—God. No.”

“How long has this been going on?”

I’m not answering that. “The point is, you and I were keeping things casual, and now I have to call it quits officially.”

She puts her hands on her hips and frowns up at me. “I don’t think we should.”

I don’t bite, but she goes on anyway.

“We’re good together. I think we can both admit that. We have great sex.”